


Did it Hurt? You Know, When You Fell From Heaven

by Orangeplum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fallen Angels, Humor, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orangeplum/pseuds/Orangeplum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"B-because angels are all light and grace and . . . and . . . and they don't go commando and fall drunk into trash cans!" </p><p>In Which Alfred finds himself in a terrible predicament with an angel wannabe reject. US/UK</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did it Hurt? You Know, When You Fell From Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I've yet to come across a Britannia angel story that I like. If someone had written him this way, which is how I see him, then I would've probably read it. Also, references to the Bird Flu are in this chapter, in case you don't understand some things.

Alfred growled under his breath as he raked the plethora of leaves scattered about his lawn. Oh, how he hated leaf raking. It was almost as bad as gutter cleaning. But because his mom was a total bitch when she wanted to be (usually whenever Alfred decided to play baseball in the display room), he was forced to do chores nearly every Godgiven weekend.

"It was just _one_ vase," he grumbled under his breath, forcing the leaves into a very amorphous pile. ". . . And two mirrors, and that glass coffee table, and those really old statues, but that's all. It's not like I _meant_ to smash them, so why do I have to rake the leaves? This place is huge!"

Indeed it was. The expanse of Alfred's rather wealthy parent's backyard was beyond torturous. It looked like five football fields, for crying out loud. Wait, scratch that. Five football fields with a bazillion trees scattered about. A toddler's heaven.

Alfred sighed in annoyance, dreading the rest of his afternoon. Surely this would take up his whole day and then some. He went back to vigorously raking the cracked brown leaves on the grass, trying to get them into garbage bags to move them out of the way. He had only accomplished three sacks full and it was only noon.

"Stupid bags. Why can't you load yourselves?" complained the blonde as he tied the black bag in a knot and swung it over his shoulder. With a huff, the American stormed his way across the yard and started to look for the garbage cans to dump the sure to be dozens of leaf bags. This was actually a very typical Saturday for apathetic Alfred Jones. Never could he remember a Saturday where punishment _wasn't_ involved. But when you lived on the edge, there wasn't much else you could do. And if being treated like a janitor for having freedoms was Alfred's price, then so be it.

Alfred tossed the bags into the trashcans loudly, kicking the metal with a pout. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead and wiped his face with his shirt, already worn down by this strenuous activity. "Appreciate this when I'm older my ass. What's next? A million birds will simultaneously fall from the sky again?" he scoffed.

No sooner had the ridiculous words left his mouth did the garbage cans scream out in protest when something hard and heavy fell from the sky, scattering them gracelessly. Alfred gave a cry (shriek) in a totally manly way and flew backwards to take cover (cower) and lean against (cling) a green waste bin. He blinked eyes that were as wide as saucers and gazed hesitantly at his garbage cans, a lid rolling slowly before swiveling out and flattening by his feet.

What the fuck?

Alfred bit his lip and let out a disturbed noise when he noticed a mop of messy hair surface, whoever this was groaning and flopping around pathetically. Did somebody just try to jump off his roof and scare him? Or was it a suicide attempt?

Alfred gasped. No! That would lower his house's property value.

"Hey, you!" he called out before ducking back behind the green waste bin. He peeked around it with a frown as _suicide person_ began to struggle to sit up, their scrawny limbs shaking as they caught their balance. He cleared his throat again. "Hey, crazy!"

The person definitely heard that time and stopped moving altogether, keeping their head tucked into their chest, their face obscured from his vision. From the looks of it, this intruder seemed to be a dude. A lanky little dude, but a dude nonetheless. Alfred blanched and recoiled with repulsion when he got a better look. Was this guy wearing a fucking dress?

Well.

No wonder he tried to kill himself. That dress did nothing to flatter his figure.

Hesitantly, and a little frightened, but trying not to show it, Alfred called out again with a frown. "I don't know what the heck you were doing on my roof, but this is private property, pal. You better leave before I call the cops."

The man ignored him as he wobbled and slumped back against the wall, letting out a pained hiss. Alfred whined to himself with a scowl, glancing towards his house that was across the yard. No way did he want to get murdered by some looney toon in a dress because his mom thought raking leaves was the coolest thing since sliced bread. He was still in high school, for goodness sake! There was still so much he wanted to do; get wasted at some douche's party and make a fool of himself; go on spring break at the Jersey Shore and get a tattoo that he would surely regret; get a girl pregnant at a young age and appear as the handsome but way too cavalier boyfriend on Teen Mom. You know. The American Dream.

"I-I mean it. You may have wanted to kill yourself, but you're still trespassing and I- Shit! I didn't mean to accuse you. Don't come near me!" he yelled in that obviously manly way again and hid back behind the bin.

So much for getting a chance to do anything with his life. All he had gotten to do was chores. Whoopdy-fuckin'-do. He was a custodian.

When the tran-man didn't leap from his pile of garbage and leaves and assault Alfred, Alfred peered out again to see the figure stop moving altogether. He straightened slowly, giving a confused glance at the motionless person slumped against his shed. Cautiously, Alfred began to take baby steps towards the man, jumping nervously when he saw his face for the first time. He would've been a not too homely guy had it not been for the blood smearing his face and bangs. _Must've landed face first_ , Alfred surmised.

"Ah, shit . . ." Alfred bit at his fingernails and glanced between his house and the limp, wounded figure. He couldn't very well let this guy die out here. That would be heartless and wrong, even if this guy was wearing a dress and trespassing. After a long inner debate, Alfred begrudgingly decided to take him into his house and clean him up. _Then_ he would call the police.

"You can't possibly hurt me when you're unconscious," Alfred told himself in reassurance, wincing when he slipped his arms under the shorter male, fingers gliding across surprisingly soft skin. "Oh, you better appreciate this." Hooking his other hand under the man's thigh, Alfred hoisted the wounded individual up, the blonde curling into Alfred's chest. It gave the teenager a shiver of revulsion and hesitance before Alfred tried to take a step towards his house –

And abruptly tripped on something.

He quickly rolled off of the injured person he just fell on top of and groaned, frowning at whatever it is that was caught beneath his sneaker. His eyes nearly fell out of his head as his jaw hit the floor, a new reason appearing to fear this unknown trespasser. Soft white feathers were littered about the grass, smooth and flowing in an organized motion up two long and sturdy wings. Wings to what, you ask? Why, ho ho, wings to this man's fucking back holyshitmommy -

Jeepers Creepers, Alfred had found a bird man.

* * *

When the stranger had finally come around to the land of the conscious the sun had started to set. The sandy blonde awoke on a comfortable bed with a bandage on his forehead and a throbbing in his temples. The green eyed individual winced at his headache before rubbing at his face with a low groan. Lord almighty, did everything hurt.

"I need to stop drinking," he murmured before a small noise in front of him drew his attention. The man paused, looking up with a frown to see Alfred sitting on his computer chair, shaking slightly and pointing a baseball bat at him. Hm. That was new. He didn't quite remember a charming lad with fearful blue eyes before he had fallen out of the sky.

"Are you alright, love? You look as if you've just seen a ghost," the bird man smirked sardonically, voice lagging with a small slur and an English accent. Well, what the _fuck_.

Alfred grimaced, noting the strong liquor stench this person reeked of. That, and herbs. Who the fuck smelled like liquor and herbs? Well, who else besides his father, of course.

"J-j-just stay away from me, creep. Don't you move from that spot," Alfred ordered, flinching when the bird man raised an enormous eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. Alfred growled to himself to see that he was being completely ignored when the Briton began to pat at the bandage on his head and glance around his surroundings, almost as if noticing it for the first time.

"Did you do this?" the bird man asked listlessly, patting at his bandage. "Shoddy work. Dreadfully shoddy. But I suppose shoddy is better than nothing, hm?" he smiled, lolling his head against the wall lazily.

"I said don't move!"

The British man with flippin' wings protruding from his shoulders yawned and didn't bat an eyelash at the teenager positively freaking out in front of him. "I'm going to guess this is your room, then. Atrocious. But then again, you are American, aren't you? Is it safe to assume that you have dirty magazines under this very mattress? If you have those you must be a 'wild one,'" he scoffed. Running his fingers through his hair, the sandy blonde let his green eyes languidly watch Alfred with slight interest. "Got any fags on you?"

Alfred scowled, gesturing with his bat at the stranger with an expression of alarm. "Wh-wha – You're one to talk! I'm not the one wearing a dress, dude!"

The Briton scowled darkly. "It's a robe, you nitwit. Haven't you ever heard of one? I was asking you for some smokes. Cigarettes."

Alfred paused long enough to let this situation start computing. "Oh . . . No. Sorry."

With a heavy sigh, the wounded stranger shut his eyes and rolled his head back against the wall. "Quite alright. I could use a smoke, though. Does wonders for a hangover."

Alfred frowned at how easygoing this conversation was going. He just found a _bird man._ He could turn him in to National Geographic and get his picture on the front. This guy wasn't even grateful for being rescued! All he did was call him gay, ask for cigarettes, and whine about his hangover. How ungrateful.

Alfred slammed his bat against his floor, gaining the attention of the bird man once more as one lazy eye popped open to peer at him. "Now listen here, bird man! I don't know if you were trying to practice flying or whatever, but you were over my house when you took a kamikaze nosedive into my garbage cans! Hurt or not, you were trespassing and that's illegal. Aren't you gonna say anything about that? Huh?"

The bird man watched him for a rather long moment, making Alfred squirm uncomfortably in his chair before the individual shut his eye again with a scoff. "Arthur."

". . . Huh?"

"My name is Arthur. You can stop referring to me as 'the bird man.'" Arthur furrowed his brow and stuck his legs out across the bed, crossing his sandaled feet at the ankles. "And I suppose all I could tell you is to never show up for work pissed."

Alfred frowned when seeing how amusing this was to Arthur. This wasn't funny at all. It was super hard to drag a bird man across his huge lawn and take him upstairs without his parents seeing. Plus, he then had to clean all the blood off his face, which was totally awkward because unconscious people couldn't keep their balance. So Arthur kept drooping forward over the sink and rubbing his cheek in the crook of Alfred's neck. Plus- _plus_! He was totally wearing a dress (who cares if Arthur called it a robe, he still didn't wear underwear underneath it). Cleaning a guy up when he kept flashing his Wright brothers at you was ridiculously awkward.

Oh, and he had wings, to boot. That made it a million times worse.

"What do you mean? You're . . . a pilot?"

Arthur scoffed again, regarding Alfred with a frown that spoke, _Are you an imbecile_? Wow. Alfred sure wished Arthur wouldn't sit like that with his legs crossed. The view was eye-meltingly graphic. Arthur noticed this and how Alfred kept glancing away uncomfortably, which just made him snicker with a darkly amused smile. "I thought these would've given it away." Arthur gestured to the soft wings behind his back, opening them slowly.

Alfred nearly fell out of his chair as he stared in awe at the large sheet of feathers and bones reaching from wall to wall. He felt his throat constrict, never witnessing such a thing before.

Arthur grinned at Alfred before dipping his head to the side with endearment. "Not the brightest bulb in the lamp, I see. I'm what you people call an angel."

Ah.

An angel.

Arthur was an angel.

That was wonderful.

Spectacular.

Haha, now it all made sense!

Alfred fell out of his chair this time. He scurried back up before groaning and covering his eyes with his hands when getting another glance up Arthur's dres- er, robe. Arthur laughed at Alfred's ears turning red as the teenager backed into his wall when the wings suddenly tucked back behind Arthur with astounding speed.

" _Angel_? You're not an angel!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow and winced unappreciatively at Alfred's high-pitched voice. He was going to split his skull, surely, he would. "And why aren't I?"

"Because angels are all light and grace and . . . and . . . and they don't go commando and fall drunk into trash cans!" Alfred explained, shaking his head when Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "I've seen movies. If you're an angel then I'd hate to see a devil."

Arthur rolled his eyes and let out a long breath through his nostrils. Man, he really did need a smoke. "Would you please keep your voice down? Not only do you have horrid decorating skills, but you also have diarrhea of the mouth. Belt up or I'm going to strangle you."

"See! Angels don't say stuff like that," Alfred denied. "You're probably just some freak who fell into radiation at the power plant or something. I've seen the X-Men. You're no Wolverine."

"Who, pray tell, is Wolverine?"

"He's the guy I'm calling to haul your ass out of my house. I'm calling the cops," announced Alfred, moving for his door. The air sucked back through his teeth when a whoosh of air engulfed him before he was face to face with Arthur, who was watching him in a very threatening manner. Alfred gulped, moving back, but became unable to when feeling the touch of sturdy feathers behind him. Arthur let his large wings coil around Alfred's body as he frowned at the boy.

"You will not."

Alfred furrowed his brow nervously, opening his mouth to say something when he felt the bony texture beneath the wings tighten in response. He abruptly proceeded to shut the everliving fuck up.

"Good boy," Arthur praised, though his voice didn't sound like his praise was genuine. He stepped away from Alfred and let his wings move from the boy's back before they pushed forward and shoved Alfred to his bed. Alfred made a noise of surprise before looking back at the angel by his door with an irritated scowl.

"You're the worst angel ever." Drinking. Smoking. Threats. Arthur sure wouldn't get his vote for best heavenly being. Christopher Walken had a better shot.

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair before swaying on his feet slightly, the liquor still in his system. He gave a lopsided smile as he tucked his wings safely behind his back.

"That, my dear boy, is why I will need your assistance with getting back into Heaven."


End file.
